


And I Am Leaving (I'm Coming Home)

by couragetofight



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/F, parent-teacher au, shop teacher!Carol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2019-12-26 09:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18280271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couragetofight/pseuds/couragetofight
Summary: It's been five years since Carol's crash, and the solitary life she lives suits her just perfectly. After she is kicked out of her workshop on the whim of her landlord though, a lucky opportunity leads her to making the first connections she's had in 17 years - and maybe even finding something she thought she had left behind forever - a family.





	1. sing your sad soul to sleep

She glances at her watch. It’s almost 5 o’clock, which means she needs to let the girls go soon. They’ve already improved a lot in just the three weeks that she had been teaching this self-defense class, absorbing all of Carol’s lessons earnestly and they were now practicing some of the wrist grab escapes that she had already taught them.

“All right, everyone, it’s time for us all to be heading home… if any of you could help me with these mats after class, that’d be much appreciated” she calls out two minutes later.

The girls reluctantly make their way over to their bags, getting their stuff together before leaving, each giving Carol a small wave as they pass. Three meetings in and they were still a little intimidated by her – not that she blamed them for that: she knew that her ex-air-force, shop teacher and  all around (she liked to think) badass persona was a bit intimidating. This didn’t seem to scare them all off though. Monica Rambeau, a freshman, was still standing with her in the cafeteria where her class meetings were held.

“You said you needed help with the mats Miss Danvers?” she questions, and Carol gives a small nod.

With Monica’s help, the mats are folded and stacked out of the way in just ten minutes. Monica sticks around even after they are done though, watching Carol closely but silently.

“Cat got your tongue?” Carol finally asks, after the silence has gone on for upwards of five minutes.

Monica shrugs. “Nah” she says “just thinking about my project for shop is all”

“Ah, of course. You have any ideas yet?”

This seems to be the question that Monica has been waiting for, and she lights up as she begins to describe her clock design that uses both wood and metal work and is definitely more ambitious than Carol is used to hearing from her students. Monica is the only girl in the elective shop class that Carol teaches – and one of a just a few that seems to truly have a passion for creating things too. Carol herself can’t help but light up just Monica is as she describes her project – her enthusiasm is contagious, and her depth of knowledge is downright impressive.

Monica seems to barely notice as they head towards the exit to the school until they are standing by Carol’s truck. She catches herself then.

“Anyways, thanks Miss Danvers!” she says and then turns to walk in, Carol presumes, the direction of home.

Carol, reinvigorated by Monica’s impassioned ramblings and by her work with the girls that afternoon, turns towards home herself, finding herself nodding along to the music that’s playing on the local radio station.

Her own apartment is on the second floor of a small complex. It’s not a lot, but it’s a place to come back to – one that is her own, and one that most importantly allows cats. Chewie and Goose greet her as soon as she enters. Chewie, always the more vocal of the two, yells for food as Goose twists around her legs.

“Alright, alright” she mutters, and heads to the bin of food for her cats before she even pulls her jacket off.

It’s a quiet night for her, as most nights are – she cooks herself shrimp and spaghetti for dinner, then sits down and sketches some ideas out for her own projects, partially inspired by Monica’s dual medium ideas. R.E.M is spinning on her record player turned low, and she dozes off with Goose by her feet and her sketchbook in her lap. She wakes up around midnight with a crick in her neck and blearily stops the record and moves to her bed, nudging Chewie off her pillow after she’s stumbled into a pair of sweats and a soft t-shirt.

It’s not late, objectively, when she rises the next morning – in fact, its barely pushing 8 am. It feels late to her, however: she’s still not shaken the habit of rising early, even though it has been more than five years since she left the air force. She doesn’t hurry as she brews her morning coffee – it’s a Saturday, and her only plans involve starting a new project and maybe cleaning up the small apartment, if she is able to dig up the will-power for that.

Her apartment doesn’t have space for a shop, but she rents out a garage from the landlord to keep her woodworking stuff. She heads there every weekend, losing herself to the precision and detail of building things. It kept her sane, had done ever since she had recovered from the crash. There was something about being able to build – to create something that had use – that Carol loves.

As she drives her truck up to the garage, she is greeted by John, the guy who rents the garage out to her. As she rolls down her window, he greets her with a “So, Carol…” and she knows that nothing good is going to follow.

“Look,” he says a tad reluctantly, “I got some news the other day, and I’m going to need you to be out of here in the next two weeks.”

“Got some news, John?” Carol asks, raising her brows and giving him a suspicious look “You planning on burying a body in there or something?”

He rolls his eyes “Nothing like that. Not that it’s any of your business, but my brother has decided to get roll on up here and he needs some place to crash”

“Riiight” Carol drawls. They sit in silence for a couple of moments, John opening his mouth as if to talk every few seconds, but each time deciding against it. Carol finally scoffs.

“Well then. I better get back out there, since apparently I’m being kicked out on my ass.”

“Come on Carol, it’s not like that” John says, but she’s already rolling the window back up, ignoring any of his entreaties to stop and abruptly backing out, not even really waiting for him to step back from where he was leaning against her truck. She catches a glance of his annoyed expression in her rearview driving away, but she can’t bring herself to care all that much.

Her jaw clenches as she drives away, and her grip on the stick shift of her truck is much too tight. Two weeks – what the hell is he thinking giving her just two weeks to get that space cleared out? She doesn’t have a backup – it was hard enough to get fucking Rogers to give up his garage space for an extra 300 a month, and it’s not like her tiny apartment has room for all her equipment, even temporarily – a fact that he certainly knows, given that he’s the one who fucking rents it to her.

It’s purely auto-pilot that finds her parking in the Lowes parking lot 15 minutes later, her hands twitchy and her jaw still clenched. She figures, in retrospect, that it will do her good to walk around, that maybe the smell and feel of raw wood will calm her a little. She is in the middle of the lumber aisle, her eyes closed, running her hands along the grain of a slab of poplar when she hears a familiar, excited voice.

“Miss Danvers!” Monica Rambeau exclaims, and Carol turns, her storminess fading a little when she sees Monica’s bright smile. A woman stands behind Monica, with cropped hair and over-alls – her mother, Carol supposes. This supposition is proven correct when, a second later Monica says “Mom, this is Miss Danvers! And Miss Danvers, this is my mom.” She glances between them as Carol reaches out to shake her hand.

“Maria Rambeau” the woman introduces herself as, with a firm handshake and a much calmer, more subdued version of Monica’s smile. Carol finds herself smiling back, her anger tempered by – strangely – both of the Rambeau’s presences, though she has never met Maria before this. “What brings you here?” Maria continues, and Carol is forced to once again confront the reality of her unfortunate situation.

She sighs and laughs it off “Well I would’ve been buying wood for a new project of mine, except I got the news that I’m being kicked out of my shop. So now I’m just… here. With the wood. That I’m not buying.” She feels unusually self-conscious as she says it.

This gets a chuckle out of both mother and daughter. “That sucks” Monica says, her smile dampening in sympathy, “Where are you gonna do your work?”

Carol shakes her head dejectedly.

“I dunno, kid. My apartment’s way too small. I guess I’ve got to find someone else willing to rent their garage out… and in the next week.” She takes a deep breath and turns away from them, staring up at the tops of the lumber in its stacks, trying to avoid having a panic attack now of all times, in front of one of her favorite students and that girl’s kind and very composed mother. She is taking deep breaths and focusing on the feeling of wood beneath her fingers, so she misses Monica Rambeau glancing at her mother. No words are exchanged, but half a minute later, Maria Rambeau speaks up.

“Look, if you don’t have anywhere to put your stuff, you’re welcome to store it out at our place”

Carol glances at her abruptly “I wouldn’t want to impose” she says, and Monica and Maria are already shaking their heads before she’s able to finish the sentence.

“It won’t be any imposition. We’ve got space in the garage, and I’ve already got a workspace set-up. I promise.”

Carol considers for a moment. Part of her is loath to accept help – but then, she knows that she needs it; knows that another opportunity like this isn’t likely to come up again in the next six months, much less in the next two weeks.

“Ok” she says, the gears turning in her head “sure, I’ll take you up on that, just until I can find someplace”

“Good,” Maria replies, “I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t help Monica’s favorite teacher out” Once again she smiles, and Carol feels her anger and her panic slowly slip away.


	2. don't ever let them steal your joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria muses on her daughter and this new figure in her life. Carol moves in.

She has Danvers – Carol? - follow them to her and Monica’s home. As she drives, she can’t help but consider the fact that this is a little odd. Monica and her – they live an insular life. People don’t really come out of the city to visit their property – besides maybe Maria’s parents - and while Maria hasn’t necessarily tried to keep it that way, she isn’t one to bring any random person to her property. Of course, she reminds herself, Carol Danvers isn’t just someone random. It’s her name that has been pouring out of Monica’s mouth for the past month of school. Carol this, Carol that – Maria doesn’t find herself minding, glad that someone has sparked up her kid’s interest. Not that Monica was in any way an apathetic kid, she just – well she was a mom, so she worried sometimes, that Monica was so close to her because she wasn’t close to anyone else.

She had been worried too (that was what she seemed to do a good portion of her time these days), when Monica had signed up for her schools shop class – worried that some asshole of a teacher would belittle her because she was the only girl in the class. Instead, that first day of class Monica had come home with stars in her eyes, talking about her super badass shop teacher and all the projects that she was going to do that year.

The house itself is nothing grand – its comfortable and clean and that’s all that really matters to Maria. What she is prouder of is the rest of the property. Getting out of her truck, she can tell that Monica’s teacher is in awe as she drives up – for good reason too. Any garage that she had been working in could be nothing compared to Maria’s own workshop. A metal awning stretched over an enormous concrete floor, large enough to fit the small planes that she was working on at any given time.

Monica is running over to her as soon as Carol steps out of her truck, eager to show her around. Carol for her part, seems delighted with the space, and particularly drawn to the antique biplane that Maria is in the process of restoring. Maria takes the time that Monica spends guiding Carol around to open up the garage. It’s barely used, besides for storage – just a few boxes really, of Monica’s old baby clothes and their Christmas decorations. She glances out the door a second as she’s moving all the boxes to one corner and sees Carol, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her leather jacket, staring up at the plane with what Maria could only identify as wistfulness.

Carol must feel eyes on her, because she glances over a second and throws a small smile Maria’s way. Monica, in the background, continues to spout out anything and everything she knew about that plane that her mom was working on. It’s the first smile Maria has really seen out of the woman, and she’s struck by the irrational thought that she is glad that Carol is happy. She makes short work of the rest of the boxes. It’s not a large space, but she thinks – hopes - that it will be enough.

Carol smiles again as she walks toward the garage, Monica in tow. It’s a good smile.

“You’re sure that you’re willing to lend this out?”

“I don’t make offers I don’t mean, Danvers” and she hadn’t meant to address her by her last name – she knows that it surprises most people. Carol though just twitches her eyebrows, one corner of her mouth quirking up for a brief second.

“Good to know” she tells Maria.

“Well since you’re serious, I should probably get a start. I’ve got a whole garage to haul out here after all.”

Maria nods. “Sure thing.” She pauses “And if you need any help, uh, lifting or that, I’ll be around”

Danvers nods “Thank you. And thank you again for the garage space, truly. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can find somewhere permanent - I still can’t believe Rogers kicked me out of his damn garage like that.”

She rolls her eyes and sticks out her hand for Maria to shake from where it had been balled in her pocket. Maria shakes it, for lack of any better reaction that she can see, and she leans against the open doorway of garage as Carol saunters off. She stops to give Monica a high five before hopping in her truck and speeding away, flying along the cracked cement of the Rambeaus’ long driveway.

For the next 3 hours, Monica is excited enough to be bouncing off of walls. While Maria does engine work on the plane she is restoring, Monica darts between her own activities, appearing back in Maria’s view often, usually with questions about welding, but sometimes just to check in. There’s a sketchbook in her hand half of the time, full Maria is sure, of design sketches for her shop class. They stop to eat lunch and Monica tells her, around mouthfuls of grilled cheese, about her designs. Maria might be biased, but she’s pretty sure that her baby girl is a genius.

Just after their lunch, Carol’s pick-up rolls back along their long driveway, this time burdened with a host of woodworking equipment. Monica is sprinting out to greet her even as she deftly backs up to the garage. 

“How’d it go?” Maria can hear Monica question as Carol hops out of her truck.

“Pretty well.” Carol replies “Though it’s insane how much actually fit into that garage. I’ve got at least two more loads.” Her exasperation is clear on her face as Maria approaches.

She looks up to throw a grateful smile Maria’s way before walking around to pop the tailgate. She hops up afterwards, seeming to forget her audience. A single-minded determination seems to come over her as she starts to carry boxes back and forth, not once asking for help.

It’s Monica who asks first, though it’s been on the cusp of Maria’s tongue

“How can we help?” she asks, and Carol looks up, startled.

“I mean… its fine, I’m already imposing on you, I-” she splutters.

Maria, not one to take no for an answer when her generosity is on the line grabs a box anyway.

“Just tell me where you want this, Danvers”

Carol pauses a second before giving a small shrug and a laugh.

“Over in that corner I guess – I’ll organize once everything’s in”

Monica follows her mother’s lead and with the three of them unloading, the truck bed is soon empty, Maria and Carol grunting as they lift down Carol’s table saw.

Carol rolls her shoulders as she observes the empty truck, nodding to herself.

“It’s early enough, I think I’m going to get another load” she tells Maria and Monica.

“Can I come? And help out, that way you can get done faster!” Monica asks in a rush of breath. Carol, for her part, doesn’t seem to know what to do with the question, glancing up at Maria, who just shrugs her shoulders. She’s fine with Monica going with Carol, but wants to leave the question in her hands – she’s not sure everybody is ready to voluntarily deal with Monica’s endless exuberance.

“Sure Monica, as long as it's good with your Mom” Carol eventually replies, and Maria is on it even as Monica whirls around to look at her with pleading eyes.

“Yeah, go ahead”

Monica grins and gives Maria a fleeting but very tight hug before jumping into Carol’s pick-up.

Carol smiles as well, her eyes and nose scrunching up in a way that Maria is tempted to call – well, _adorable_.

“Be seeing you soon then” she says, and hops in the driver’s side of her truck. 

Monica is already babbling away as they pull away from the garage, and Carol gives a little wave even while intently listening to her. As they pull away, Maria feels almost… content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! Voila, the second chapter. I really struggled with this (as is evidenced by the fact that i am indeed posting this - wow an entire month later) but I hope you enjoy!   
> Some notes: I know Absolutely Nothing about airplanes except what some very light googling could get me so please excuse any and all errors. I do however know a lil' bit about woodworking, which is why it is so much more present in this story.   
> Do you have any idea's on what Monica is dreaming up??? Let me know!! I love to hear all of your thoughts  
> chapter title from The Joke by Brandi Carlisle  
> Lemme know what you think, here or on my blog @couragetofight


	3. the best revenge would be a life well lived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new week means a return to routine... and an interruption of it.

Despite the surprisingly large number of things that she had crammed into her workshop, Carol is out of it within two days, not two weeks. It takes quite a bit of hauling on Sunday, and she’s glad that it was still near the beginning of the school year and there wasn’t all that much she had to do for her classes. She is determined to get it all out, though – mostly to avoid Rogers’ nagging since she still lives in his building even if he’s kicked her out of his garage. She sees less of the Rambeaus on that second day. Maria had given her a key to the garage when she had returned the evening before, Monica in tow.

She was happy to do the work alone. It was, after all, how she did most everything in her life, and the solitude envelops her into its safety. By the end of the day, her arms are sore from lifting boxes and heavy machinery in and out of her pick-up. Everything is crammed into various corners of the garage, but it is _everything_ and between the sense of completion that she gets from that and the burn in her arms, the anxious feelings that had settled in her chest had begun to fade away. The best way to get rid of that anxiety is usually to woodwork – the feel of the wood in her hands, the power of her tools, the project taking shape in her hands – that calms her like nothing else can.

It is already approaching 7 o’clock however, and she is suddenly very conscious of the fact that she is intruding on the Rambeaus space. The clanging that had been sporadically coming from Maria’s tarmac space has ceased, replaced by muffled clinking and laughing from inside of the house. Carol surveys her work for a last time and smiles slightly to herself. She pulls shut the garage door and locks it before getting in her pick-up in order to leave. As she backs up, she shoots a small wave towards the house, unsure if anyone is watching.

She is on her way home when she realizes that she’s been so engrossed with moving out that she had all but forgotten that she needs to buy groceries. Thankfully for her, the supermarket is open till midnight, so she stops at one on her way back into the city. She hasn’t planned, so she grabs whatever sounds good to her – which according to the gnawing feeling in her stomach is a lot of things. She had eaten a pack of saltine crackers that she found in the glove compartment of her truck for lunch, but those have long since worn off. She makes it out of the grocery store in what she thinks is probably record time.

Once home, she cooks herself a hamburger on the stove. It’s not quite the same as grilling one would be, but she’s too hungry to pull her tiny charcoal grill out to the patio. Chewie and Goose are all too happy to see her (and to demand food from her). She feeds them their dry cat food when she arrives home, and then can’t help but throw small crumbs of hamburger down to them while she herself is eating. Goose jumps on the table halfway through her meal, making a beeline for her plate, and for its briefly a mad scramble to remove her from the table.

The rest of her evening is calm though, and Carol relishes it. She goes to sleep with her new project on her mind – it’ll be a rocking chair she’s decided.

Monday morning brings with it a return to routine, and Carol is up at five getting ready for the day’s classes.  It’s only after first period, when a man she barely recognizes steps into her shop class that she remembers – the new principal is starting. Today. And while that isn’t a problem per say, she isn’t necessarily ready for a brand-new principal, coming in and judging her class. The wood shop classes she teaches 3 of the 4 periods of the day are usually forgotten about, and she’s comfortable enough that she wears jeans, and since no one’s using any machinery yet in the semester, there are students with earbuds in as they work in their sketchbooks. It isn’t – exactly to policy in any case.

The class is going to finish in only 5 minutes though, so she doesn’t really have time to dwell on the new guy, lounging in the back of her classroom with a suit that made him look like an extra in _Men in Black_. Instead she turns back to her class.

“Alright students, you should know the routine by now” she calls out “start cleaning up – stools should be pushed in, no garbage left on the floor… Remember you’ve got your first design packet due this Friday and that it’s mandatory for getting started with all the equipment in the next few weeks, OK?” Her students give nods of varying excitement as she reminds them of this – though the mention of getting to work with the saws and other machinery certainly garners enthusiasm. The bell rings a couple of minutes later, and her students rush out of the classroom, eager to get to their next class if only to avoid the penalty of being tardy (they have barely 5 miinutes to make it to their next class, and the shop building is separated from the rest of the school).

“Nicholas Fury” the man introduces himself as once most of the students have cleared out. “I gather that you’re the infamous Miss Danvers.”

She smirks a little in response and reaches out to shake his hand with a firm grip. For a moment, they’re in contest, each squeezing tighter. Carol has strong hands though, and woodworking has kept them that way, so its Fury who incredulously raises his eyebrows and lets go.

“Damn, OK Danvers” he says while massaging his knuckles and she cracks a smile.

“Very nice to meet you, _Sir_ ”

“Yeah, yeah. So… this is shop class then?”

Carol nods and gestures around the classroom as the first students for her next period start to trickle in.

“That it is. Machinery is in the back for now – the students spend the first few weeks going through a design process before I even let them breathe on the power tools.”

“Design process?” he says inquisitively

“It’s a few steps,” she begins to explain “they’re given a prompt, based on what level class they’re taking. They get three weeks to work on their design, with a few check-in points along the way – they get to make the choice on how they spend their time in class, but if they don’t have an approved proposal, they don’t get to touch the tools. They get another three weeks to work on the project and then the process starts over again.”

Fury nods, looking impressed “Well, it’s certainly not the build out of a box shop class that I’ve seen other places”

“I should hope not” Carol replies “now if you’ll excuse me, I better make sure this lot are on track”

“Oh of course, of course Miss Danvers. I wouldn’t dream of keeping you.”

Monica Rambeau enters the classroom just as Fury is leaving it, slinging her backpack onto her bench and pulling out her notebook that she’s been sketching in. She brings it with her to talk to Carol, nervous in a way that Carol hasn’t seen with her before.

“What’s up Monica?” She softens her voice from the snarky tone she was using with the new principal only moments before.

“So…” Monica begins, “I know that you said we needed to work with the materials we had in class, but I’ve had this really great idea, and my mom said she’d be willing to help out if I got the go-ahead from you and well I…” she trails off.

Carol quirks her eyebrows at her. “Well, you better let me see it then Monica”

She gets the rest of the class started as Monica flips to the page in her notebook, bolstered by the fact that her idea hadn’t immediately been shot down. She glances over and feels a strange swell of pride. The design is beautiful, how Monica has sketched it out and in the few weeks that she’s known the kid, she knows that she has probably poured her heart and soul into it.

She pulls the notebook over to her once the class is situated, perching on the front edge of her desk. It truly is a gorgeous and elaborate design – what Carol had thought at first glance was a dark wood inlay was actually twisted metal bars, enclosing a clock made out of a single wood trunk, leaving the natural texture of the wood just under the bark exposed. It’s also a difficult design – one that she certainly isn’t expecting from a first-year student. 

She says yes to Monica – of course she does. There’s a spark of curiosity that she sees within her, and it would kill her to be the one who extinguishes that simply because she exceeded Carol’s expectations. No, that wouldn’t be fair at all, and Carol knows that Maria, with steady hands and her absolutely enormous workshop will be there to help her with the welding. (And if the brief thought flashes across her mind that she will be there too, to watch Monica’s bright smile as she creates something, to help her maybe as she learns the tools – well, that’s her business.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo folks! Hope you enjoyed chapter three, posted in honor of finals ending TODAY! I kept wanting more to this chapter but arrived at the last line and felt satisfied in that.   
> I hope you enjoyed the reveal of Monica's design which is in fact something I have entirely made up.   
> Any non-americans reading this fic - is shop class a thing in your country?   
> In any case, i apologize for the entirely innacurate portrayal of a shop class, which i'm excusing with a hand-wavey 'Carol cares a lot and wouldn't follow the normal curriculum'.   
> Chapter title, as always, from Brandi Carlisle, this one from Every Time I Hear That Song.

**Author's Note:**

> The world needs more Carol/Maria, so here we are. Endless thanks to neo-persephone on tumblr, who endlessly encouraged me/beta-ed for me/helped come up with this entire idea.  
> I hope you enjoy! I'd love to hear from you, in the comments or at couragetofight on tumblr :D  
> The titles are from Brandi Carlile's album By The Way, I Forgive You, which I heartily recommend!


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